This has been a rather stormy weekend, with some parts of the UK seeing winds up to 85mph. Compared to the hurricanes that batter parts of the US these winds are trivial, but we’re not really used to them here.
I suspect that the winds have come from a different direction from normal because I’ve seen more damage in the gardens I care for than I would have expected. I’m used to a few branches getting ripped off but I’ve lost three trees and had significant damage to a fourth. I’ve spent a chunk of my Sunday chopping up fallen trees.
There’s a hedge under there!
I’m lucky. These aren’t the only trees under my care, and I have lots to still enjoy and be proud of. However I still feel the loss.
I am a proud tree nerd. I love trees; rare trees, common trees, big trees, small trees, weird trees… I feel a great deal of joy whenever I’m near a tree.
Maybe I’m too sensitive to be doing this? Who in their right mind pines for a pine, or feels absolutely devastated when a big chunk of a magnolia blows down?
Gutted to see a big chunk of magnolia on the ground
I should have a thicker skin. After all, they’re only trees.
Or maybe it’s perfectly OK to feel sadness at the loss of a tree, or indeed any plant. I don’t think I could be a thick-skinned gardener who feels nothing at the loss of plants. I know some very successful gardeners, here in the UK, who wouldn’t feel a thing if the gardens they cared for were concreted over.
I feel a bond with the garden, and I know I’m not the only one to do so. Allowing yourself to love a garden makes you a better gardener, despite the inevitable heartbreak this sometimes brings.
Probably the tallest tree I look after
The big problem with trees is that we have a different relationship with them. They woo us with their great ages and large scales, and consequently we feel a special sense of loss when they fail or are felled. I’ve heard it said that this wasn’t always the case, that the 19th century Romantic painters with their bucolic scenes gave cult status to the sort of tree that would previously have been firewood or timber. I don’t know if this is true; is is possible for long-dead artists to still influence how people feel about big old trees?
Beautiful old tree or ugly bit of firewood?
Certainly it appears there is less appreciation for the aesthetic value of big trees in places that have a distinctly separate artistic history.
Our love of big old trees comes at a cost. Those same feelings of warmth towards veteran trees and their preservation can stifle sensible woodland management. Woodlands, like gardens, need a gentle process of renewal if they are to retain their long-term vitality; a woodland filled with ancient trees and nothing else is a woodland at risk of total collapse.
A big old tree lost to a storm; the others are of a similar age and size
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t admire our older trees. In fact quite the opposite. If we truly value trees then it is imperative that we should value, and I mean truly value, trees of every generation from the youngest sapling to the gnarliest old veteran.
Even with the greatest love and care imaginable, an old tree will one day die. It will lose its last leaf or succumb to one final storm. It’s important that we nurture these greats and mourn them when they pass, but there needs to be a future generation of ancient trees to replace them, and another generation to replace these in turn.
A 25 year old English oak in the mist
Inter-generational living is the hallmark of a sustainable woodland that should last generations, and the same principle applies to garden trees. Sometimes adhering to this means making some tough decisions and removing a big tree to make space for new trees, but sometimes nature comes along and does the editing for you.
Sad though it is to see.